The One Who Left
by Spinning Round on a Carousel
Summary: He left. He fought. Now the War is over, will he allow himself to come back?


**I don't like this one as much as my previous story, but I thought I'd publish it anyway and see what others think. I always thought it must have been difficult for Percy, integrating back into his family, and I also thought Luna, with her blunt observations, might be the one to help him do so. I'm not sure that I've got either character quite right, but I've given it a go. **

**Disclaimer (which I remembered this time! Get me!): sadly, although I own a total of ten Harry Potter books, I don't actually own Harry Potter. I know, 'tis a shame.**

The One Who Left

I stare at the floor. I have no one to talk to, no one to turn to. My family is somewhere to my left, gathered around the body of my brother. The dead body of my brother. Should I be with them, comforting my sister, another supportive arm around my brother? No. My sister has Harry and my brother Hermione, and in any case, I gave up the right to be a part of that family the moment I walked out the door three years ago. If I'd made different decisions- the right decisions, I remind myself- I would be there. But I didn't and I'm not.

"You're a Weasley."

I look up at the sound and see a girl of about my sister's age staring at me with wide, blue-grey eyes. Her skin would be pale, but it's dirt-streaked and coated in the grim and ash of battle. Blonde hair tumbles loosely around her, the long curls making her petite frame appear even smaller. It takes me several seconds, but then I recognise her. She's older and different- changed by the War, as we've all been- but I remember her from my childhood.

"And you're Luna Lovegood," I reply tiredly. I remember her from my childhood, yes, but I also remember her never-ending tales of mystical creatures that jarred so much with my ordered, naïve outlook on the world. I always viewed her as though she was one of her fantastical creations, but now the tables have been turned and she is looking at me curiously, like I'm an exhibit.

"If you're a Weasley, why are you not with your family?" she asks.

I frown. Why should I tell her? Why should I tell this girl my thoughts and emotions, ones that I've hidden since I left? She's so different and young and unusual and odd- but then maybe that's why I should.

"I don't deserve to be."

It's her turn to frown.

"Why not?"

"I left."

Understanding dawns in her eyes and I know what's coming. The look of disappointment, pity and anger, all mixed together into one guilt-tripping combination.

"Oh. You're Percy, aren't you? I heard a lot about you in Fourth Year. The one who chose the Ministry over family."

I wince at hearing it put so simply. But who am I to deny it? That is in essence what I did. It's the truth and this girl will say it. I needed to hear it and I know that maybe, for once in my life, I made the right decision.

"Yes," I acknowledge. "I suppose that's how I'm branded now."

Her eyes take on a different quality, the grey becoming more prominent, like the sea on a stormy day. I see her glance at Hermione.

"Don't say that," she reprimands, her voice still airy but with a harder tone underneath. "Some people really are branded. You aren't."

My own gaze flicks to Hermione and I wonder what happened to her. The trio disappeared for several months; I convinced myself that Harry was hiding, too pathetic to face You-Know-Who, but now I can't imagine the horrors that they had to suffer while I sat in my office. The word plays on my mind. Branded. If I'm not branded, does that mean that I can change their opinions?

Luna starts to speak again, considering her words carefully as she says them.

"You came back when it counted most. You fought alongside us and alongside your family."

"I still left."

"You still came back."

I laugh bitterly, looking towards the cluster of redheads. Their backs are to me; I know they wish it were me, lying on that floor. Even I wish it were me.

"I'm not prodigal son. They don't want me back."

Neither of us speaks for what seems a long time, the absence of conversation stretching the seconds. The silence feels like an answer in itself, an admission that I'm right. Yet eventually, Luna comments once more.

"I think your family would be very silly not to forgive you," she tells me. "We've all lost too much to not forgive those who deserve it."

With that, she gets up and leaves. I watch her weave her way through the groups of people to a tall, thin, blonde boy huddled in the corner of the Great Hall, away from everyone else. Her words play around my head as I see her put an arm around Draco Malfoy and begin talking softly to him. That, more than anything brings me to my decision.

I stand up and walk over to my family.

**A/N: I'm sorry about the ending, it's not great, but I couldn't think of any other way to finish it.**


End file.
